Time Will Heal Us
by snsw25kr14
Summary: When Sam is injured and fixes himself up, things are revealed. Can Dean deal with way Sam's changed and the fact that Sam doesn't need him anymore? -Set in Season 4-. Oneshot-Complete


Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Supernatural, it all belongs to Eric Kripke. –cries-

Author Note: Alrighty so this idea popped into my head, while cleaning my room. –sigh-. This is going to be a one-shot, nothing more and nothing less. If you do read this, please review...they are LOVE. Hehe.

~Spoilers~-Season 4…no particular episode that I can think of. If anyone finds any please let me know.

* * *

The hunt had begun well. It had seemed simple enough, the spirit of a widow. She was angry that the house that they had lived in was going to be torn down. Although all the information he could find had been provided to Dean. In the end though unexpected things should be expected.

They had arrived at the house the moon causing a slight glimmer of light to shine on the dirt road and reflect off the windows of the old house. The Impala rolled gently along the dirt road causing dust to stick to the glistening beauty. Dean rolled his eyes at the thought of his baby getting dirty in any way.

Once the proper weapons that were needed were being held and ready if need be they both went there separate ways. Dean took the job of digging the grave, Sam the job of distracting the spirit. As Sam entered the house he shivered, not because it was cold but because it was creepy. This by far had to be one of the creepiest houses he had ever been in.

It was large and open. The floors were made of oak and the grandfather clock against the law, chimed nosily. It was now officially midnight. The windows glared there reflection into the room, making it seem eerily. Sam headed to the living room, the place where both the husband and wife died. The best place to provide a distraction was to provoke the spirit.

He looked at the pictures lining the fireplace. In any other situation he would have thought of them to be a beautiful and in-love elderly couple. Unfortunately when construction workers started dieing the nice looking old woman was no more. He picked up a few of the frames and took out the pictures. He tore them up, not liking having to do it, but knowing it was necessary

As the sound of the photos being ripped echoed around the room, the chilling of the air didn't go unnoticed. The gun filled with rock salt made him feel a little better, but he knew spirits could be dangerous and unpredictable, especially when dealing with one that was a widow. Before he could turn around he was flying through the air.

He slammed into the grandfather clock and groaned as his head smacked against the solid wood. He felt dizzy and lightheaded. He winced as he tasted blood in his mouth. He looked up to see one pissed of woman standing in front of him. As she came towards him he fired. He was very lucky the gun had landed close. The spirit disappeared in a screech. He gulped taking in deep breathes as the pain in his head worsened. He leaned down and put his head between his knees, willing the dizziness to disappear. On top of feeling like he was going to puke his guts up, he most likely had broken ribs due to his ability of not being able to get a whole lot of oxygen in his aching lungs.

As the dizziness receded he stood. He hoped Dean was getting close to getting the dumb bitch burned because he needed to take care of his injuries. He froze because he could feel eyes on him. He turned around slowly and winced as the blood red eyes glared furiously at him. He didn't have time to get a round off before he was once again flying threw the air.

He hit the glass coffee table and cried out in pain. He could feel the glass shards cut into his skin. He looked down and saw the red seeping through his shirt. He winced and coughed his ribs protesting at the movement. As he glanced up he saw the spirit smiling wickedly, her wrinkled skin and cold red eyes revealing pain and maliciousness.

He closed his eyes willing the pain to go away, just for a minute, it didn't. He opened his eyes as the screech was heard throughout the room. The woman across from his seemed to dissolve in a wash of smoke and ashes. He sighed knowing she had been destroyed.

"Sam are you alright?"

He looked up as he saw Dean standing in the doorway. He nodded. He didn't need his brother's sympathy or worry. He had been taking care of himself and stitching himself up for four months, the condition he was in was nothing. He stood surprising himself at his ability to hide the wince and groan that wanted to escape his lips. The look of concern didn't miss his vision.

"Let's get out of here."

As Dean walked out ahead of him he knew it was going to be a long and painful night

* * *

He was currently standing in the bathroom of there ratty motel room. Its puke green color not making him feel any better. He knew he was running a fever, and the ibuprofen had worn off. Unfortunately they were out, just his luck. He stripped out of his shirt, making him gasp. He knew he needed to be quite as to not wake Dean, that's all he needed.

He took out the needle and sutures, hating this part. From his trip across the room and landing on the glass coffee table had done quite a job. It had caused shards of glass to cause a deep and seven inch gash in his stomach. He had sutured the gash before he went to bed but the stitches had burst and now he was in the bathroom sewing himself up, running a fever, and feeling like complete shit. He jumped when the door opened, his face revealing the surprise and shock of seeing Dean standing before him.

"What. In. The. Hell. Are. You. Doing?"

Each word was precisely said. He looked at the anger on his brother's face a winced.

"Sewing myself up."

The door opened and Dean entered, his eyes squinted against the light.

"What do you mean you're sewing yourself up? Why in the hell didn't you tell me you were injured?"

"I didn't want to be a bother. Look, I don't need your pity or your sympathy, I've been stitching myself and taking care of my injuries for four months, I don't need your help."

As he went to put another stitch in the wound, he dropped the needle and thread. He cursed under his breathe at the sign of weakness in front of his brother. A gentle hand on his shoulder made him stop. Dean bent over and picked up the needle.

"Come on Sammy, let me help you."

He felt dizzy. Dean had called him Sammy. He hadn't heard that word from his brother's mouth in…months. He wobbled on his feet, but thankfully the steady hand never left his shoulder. He was sat gently on the bed before Dean returned carrying the first aid kit.

"Lie down and lift your shirt."

He did as he was told, too tired to object. The gentle and cool hands of his brother relaxed him. He suddenly felt silly for not telling Dean of just how bad off he was off.

"Sammy, why didn't you tell me how bad off you were?"

"I didn't think you'd care."

"Not care, Sam of course I care. I'm always going to care about you. I know I've been a total dick lately, but it's hard and confusing to come back and know that things have changed. It's hard knowing you've become this solider and this machine that doesn't need me anymore."

He looked at Dean and the way the green eyes were filled with warmth. He had missed that, missed **his **Dean.

"I'm always going to need my big brother. I guess things got a little lost in translation."

"Yeah and Sam what I said, I never meant any of it. You're not any more of a freak than what you were when I was here nor could you ever be. You're my brother and I love you."

"Yeah me too."

He sighed feeling more relaxed than he had in years. He had his brother back and that was more than he could have ever hoped for.

"I think my ribs are broken."

"I know, but you need your rest. I hate to leave them unwrapped but it's late. I'll wrap them first thing tomorrow. Plus I want to wake you every hour, I know you have a concussion, but for now we'll just get you settled. Here, take these. It'll help with the pain and fever."

He took the glass of water and pills offered. He swallowed the pills anxious for the relief.

"How'd you know I had a fever?"

"I'm your brother; it's my job to know these things. Besides your burning up, it doesn't take a genius to realize it. Now get some sleep, you'll feel better in the morning."

The idea that his brother had faith in him was all he needed and he fell asleep, dreaming peacefully, something he hadn't done in months.

Dean watched as Sammy slept and felt regretful. He hated the fact that Sam had gone through four months of pure torture by himself. He knew from here on out he would support and comfort Sam no matter what the cost or condition. They were family and no matter what happened, Sam was all he had. So for that he would do whatever it took to keep him happy. In the end though he knew as long as they had each other, no matter whether a war was heading there way and angels and demons were wanting them, they would be okay, because they had each other.

* * *

**Author Note: Ah...so I really enjoyed writing this. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it and don't forget to review. Hehe. I know I probably had some spelling/grammar mistakes and I take full responsibility for those. **

**XoXo, **

**Kaylee**


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